


Golden Dust

by AzcaSky



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: First Meeting, Gen, M/M, but it will be one of many, nothing actually happened in this fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22255453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzcaSky/pseuds/AzcaSky
Summary: The boy came with the storm, laden with golden dust and mirages.Hyungwon lets him in.
Relationships: Chae Hyungwon/Lee Minhyuk
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15
Collections: hyungwon fest





	1. the boy, the storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is from the prompt:  
> "i ran away from home and knocked on the wrong door but you want to take me in anyway au" with Hyungwon/Minhyuk or Hyungwon/Changkyun, and Hyungwon as the one who take the other in.
> 
> I really hope I did the prompt justice, though it will be very roundabout.
> 
> Also, I edited it in 6 Feb 2020, for the quality and to update new chapter.

The sky is the color of dust when Hyungwon opened the door. It was full of scattered clouds, filtering the last remnants of sun into powders of gold, the beginning of a storm brew. Inside, the faint buzz of TV reports warnings for the citizen to stay indoors. Far away, somewhere he couldn’t hear yet, countless thunders began racing each other to where they would eventually gave all their charges. And then, in front of him, panting by the door, is a boy with the hair of golden dust,

"Please, let me in,"

Hyungwon is a simple person. For him, the world is always bite sized, no matter how big or complicated it may seem. And even if sometimes the world throws him something he just couldn’t fit into his mouth, he’d just nibble into it patiently, until it gives in and crumbles on its own. Hyungwon is lazy; he chooses the easiest path to walk on, so it doesn’t matter if it takes him a long time, or if he couldn’t finish it halfway through; there’d always be another smaller snacks he can live on.

This time is no different. Maybe a strange boy laden with golden dust is too big for his mind to comprehend, but he manages. Opening the door, offering him a shower, because he seemed to need it, even when he looks like a mirage, like he just fell right out of the clouds and ran to his door so he could outspeed the storm, like his existence is not even real—but, even so, the boy was wet with sweat, and so, a shower it is.

This is fine. This is logical, bite sized steps. Hyungwon can do this.

Hyungwon stares blankly to the boy’s black duffel bag, the only thing that he brought. It was open, and left in the living room, where Hyungwon is waiting with two mugs of tea. Inside, he can see clothes and something that looks like book and another thing that looks like spray paint.

Distantly, Hyungwon wonders if this is the kind of situation that parents always warn their kids against when they say not to open door for strangers. There's a possibility that it's mini gas tank instead of spray paint, and the golden dust boy is planning to burn the house down. Or there might be a knife or a gun there, or maybe the boy will come out of the shower and shoot him in the head. He thinks about how the headlines will be: “Man Brutally Murdered In His Own House”, “A Stormy Murder in A Peaceful Residence”. He wonders which one Kihyun would read, if he’d seethe reading those click-bait titles that romanticize murder and exemplifies the victim instead of the culprit. _Oh, Kihyun,_ he used to think everytime Kihyun was in the mood for some good natured rant, _but death_ is _romantic. At least my death better be._

But those thought, no matter how entertaining, are distant, like it all happened in a very far country in a fairy tale that he only read once when he was a far younger than he is, instead of a real possibility. Hyungwon doesn't want to think of the probability, doesn’t want to bother figuring a way out of the potential danger, if he is even in one. He just doesn’t want to think. He replays the way the last remnant rays of sun glittered golden on the boy’s hair, replays the way his voice sounded squeaky and worn out, replays the way he panted and slightly leaned on the wall, replays the way sweat ran down his temple and the back of his neck and his forearm. He keeps replaying, because, he doesn’t want to think about the befores or afters. He just wants to nibble on a memory, replaying it on and on and on.

The shower lasts for more than twenty minutes. The tea has gotten lukewarm. Hyungwon still waits.

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, the golden dust boy came out of the bathroom clad in the same clothes he came in, with Hyungwon's soft blue towel draped around his head. Hyungwon gave him a towel but forgot to offer him a change of clothes. But there’s no hidden knife, no firearm surprises.

The tea is cold, and Hyungwon is half a second away from closing his eyes entirely, but he gestures for the boy to sit, for a reason he himself isn’t sure.

"Make me trust you."

It was the first thing that came to his mind the moment the boy sat and began nursing his mug of cold tea. Hyungwon doesn’t think about how uncomfortable it must be to wear the same sweat stained clothes, doesn’t want to know the reason why the boy doesn’t change into the clothes he brought.

"I’m sorry?"

"Give me a reason to let you stay."

Hyungwon is not sure, actually, but even if he reads it all wrong, it’ll be a good story to tell to Kihyun, because something is happening to him for once, instead of endless days of answering ‘just so-so’. Somehow, he’s sure the boy will make an interesting story. If nothing else, he’d have a fairy tale of a boy born from golden dust, even though Kihyun might just brush it off as another one of his daydreams.

"I'm," the boy hesitates. Looks at him weirdly. Blinks. (His eyes blink uneven; the right is a beat faster than the left, like the blip of traffic light in the dead of night.) "I’m Lee Minhyuk."

Ah, a name. A name is as good as any, Hyungwon guesses. A customary, a manner, information that tells so much yet none at all. He waits.

"I wasn't supposed to be here. I’m direction blind. I got lost."

There are a lot of things that could go wrong with that argument, but for now, Hyungwon keeps his expression in check, waiting for the boy to continue.

"I tried to go to where I'm supposed to but the storm—" Minhyuk, a name that sounds as pretty as golden dust, squints his eyes, then quips, “You know what, you’re not really going to throw me away no matter what I say. You’re gonna let me stay, aren’t you?”

It is true, Hyungwon has never really considered another option, but Minhyuk doesn’t need to know. Even so, he takes a second too long to come up with an answer, and it comes in a form of a dumb, “How do you know that?”

“Your eyes, it’s—“ Minhyuk cuts himself the second time, “It’s not important. I’m right.”

There’s a part in Hyungwon’s brain that tells him to force Minhyuk to spit his half said words, but he also doesn’t want to know what Minhyuk might have said. Because if it’s anything close to the truth, he knows it won’t be pretty, and he doesn’t want to remember this night as anything less than pretty. “You can use the room across. Storm is going to pass, electricity might die at some point.”

Hyungwon leaves his room’s door slightly ajar, then lays down on his bed, hugging his blanket and stares at the ceiling, knowing sleep is far away. He tries to listen to the wind and the faraway storm, counting the seconds until it passes. Secretly, he hopes Minhyuk turns out to be a real serial killer.

-

When Hyungwon gets out of the room in the morning that borders to noon, he finds Minhyuk sleeping against the wall beside his door, like a dog waiting for his owner, not daring to enter without command, even when every door is open. He almost forgets the boy with golden dust, in between insomnia and hazy dreams, but the boy is real, crouching in his same black tshirt and grey sweatpants, feet bare on the cold wooden floor.

 _He doesn’t fit here_ , he thinks absently, because golden dust belong in jewelries, in the body of a dancer, as sprinkles in the world’s most exquisite cuisine, and Hyungwon’s house is mere bare walls, impersonal and cold, too simple and not enough.

"Hey," Hyungwon speaks softly without touching him, but he wakes nonetheless.

Minhyuk blinks slowly, and then quickly, like he needs a few flap of eyelashes to remember himself, "Oh, I'm sorry. I was waiting for you. I wanted to get breakfast, and I want to ask your permission."

He’s so pretty, like this, a speck of golden dust in the middle of plain expanse.

"You didn't leave?"

The storm has let up, it didn’t even last an hour, it must have chosen another place to settle, and there’s no reason for Minhyuk to stay after the first light.

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?”

Hyungwon stares down, stares into the eyes that seems to gleam, stares as it blinks into confusion and certainty, but not fear.

“Hyungwon. Chae Hyungwon.” He says to those eyes that morphs into comprehension, and then crinkles into a little smile.

The bland oat cereal they eat that morning tastes like the end of a storm, and the beginning of a morning that shines golden.


	2. dinner, then after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kihyun comes over. It goes well, considering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In here, we have a little peek of Hyungwon.

After that breakfast the first day, Hyungwon gave Minhyuk his own set of keys, and gave him a curt tour of the house and verbal permission to use any and all facilities in it except Hyungwon’s room. The house is not large by far, but Minhyuk seemed too comprehensive to use anything without permission, despite his bluntness and his all-knowing eyes. Observing Minhyuk who listened to the few words that Hyungwon had decided to speak felt like observing a quiet tsunami. One does not realize it’s real until it’s too close for it to be not, until it’s too late to anticipate.

Minhyuk is like that seconds of silence, and Hyungwon doesn’t know what kind of wave he’d bring along.

There was a science experiment that Hyungwon remembers as a child, about a lightbulb and a pack of batteries. When the batteries were paralleled, the lightbulb lit steadily for a long time. But when used altogether, the lightbulb burst into its brightest light possible and then exploded, leaving soot and charred coil in its stead, and a mesmerized ten year old with sparkles of white and red in his eyes.

There’s nothing in the world that could prepare Hyungwon for Minhyuk who smiled and thanked him for the half-assed tour, and then left to his room and never came out for the rest of the day. Hyungwon felt like a burned out lightbulb, blasted away by Minhyuk’s smile.

In the second day, it seems like the strange boy just disappear.

Hyungwon works as a senior editor in a quite well off magazine, he mostly works from home. If he can help it, he doesn’t ever go out and relies on Kihyun to be his bridge to the outside world. Doing his job from home also helps him to cope with his insomnia, at least he’ll feel productive in his own time. So, when Minhyuk went out the first chance he got and not come back until so late at night, Hyungwon notices. It’s almost like Minhyuk was waiting for it, waiting for the moment to be out of the house, out of Hyungwon, even though it was him who insisted he wanted to stay.

It’s actually funny, because, Hyungwon’s house is so impersonal and so cold, like he doesn’t care at all if it burns down the next day. He barely has personal belongings, as if he’s ready to move in a moment’s notice but he barely leaves. It’s weird that he doesn’t form attachment over the house that he resides in for so long. But, thinking about it, there’s nothing to miss from being overcome with depression for years and years.

Maybe Minhyuk feels it, too.

Hyungwon doesn’t want to overthink it, so he lets Minhyuk be, never asking, never prying, never tries to talk to him or meet him. He doesn’t even go to Minhyuk’s room again, even though the place that is now Minhyuk’s bed is the spot with the most ideal amount of sunshine to nap in. He never enters, never realizes the duffel bag that has not yet being unpacked, never knows how there is never a toothbrush or a shave razor left in the bathroom, and even his soft blue towel he gave the first day is nowhere to be found.

But then again, Hyungwon hasn’t died yet despite always leaving his door slightly open. His TV and laptop, probably the only valuable thing in the house, are still in their respectful place, and the house hasn’t burned down, so maybe it is just as it is.

All he knows, as days pass with similar patterns, is just the beeps and clicks of the door, and the soft step of bare feet upon wooden floor.

In the middle of the night, in between sound of shower, Hyungwon wonders if Minhyuk would like a slipper.

-

Hyungwon suffers from depression, some kind that he doesn’t bother to check.

Hyungwon had thought he had done better, because he hadn’t had a relapse in years since his high school days, but suddenly, without warning, everything came crashing down, and he didn’t know what to feel. It was like floating in the middle of nowhere. Like he had been running all his life and one day he tripped, and once he stopped and looked around, he was no longer sure where he was. And he had been living in that limbo for months, years, not quite living but not quite having the courage to die. Kihyun insisted he just needed time, and he promised he’d be there every step of the way, but Hyungwon thought he was just pathetic and spoiled. The thing is, to be able to recover from any illness, he had to want to get better, but he didn’t even feel the need to get better, never did, never will. He doesn’t feel anything. Not anymore. It barely matters, to him. Everything that he wanted to do, all his dreams as a kid, every words that he said, all felt like a lie, a pretty lie that he created just to hide the hideous and empty thing Hyungwon actually is.

He read a lot too, about how depression doesn’t define oneself, but he thinks, what do they know? _What if this is the real me? It has always been like this._ What if he doesn’t want to get better? What if he doesn’t want to be functional? What if he just wants to end it all?

Kihyun stopped talking unnecessarily to him after a month, but he never stops coming, never stops glancing warily every other hour, and Hyungwon knows what that meant. Kihyun is afraid that he’d do something stupid. Not that Hyungwon has ever did anything. He never even cut himself, never drank excessively, never tried to end his life. It was just endless feeling of empty, empty, empty. What Kihyun understands is that Hyungwon always yearns death, always gaze emptily like he doesn’t care whether he will live another day, and Kihyun wants him to care, wants him to start seeing his life as something precious. What Kihyun doesn’t know, though, is that Hyungwon fears committing to death more than Kihyun himself.

“But, Kihyun,” Hyungwon asked, one day, while Kihyun was making pudding, another one of his whimsical cooking, “What do you get for helping me? I don’t contribute to your life anymore. It’s probably better if I don’t. Then you can go wherever you wanna go, instead of insisting on babysitting me here while I don’t even appreciate it anyways.”

There was silence, probably just for a few seconds, but for Hyungwon, it was a few seconds too long. The words were in his mind for so long, he had wanted to voice it since day one, and he never felt any better for dragging Kihyun down while Kihyun was brimming with opportunities and potential. He recognized his old self that regarded Kihyun with reverent admiration and fondness, and he tried to find the same feeling to no avail. Now, it’s just cold, bare fact, that he’s just a hindrance to Kihyun. He could no longer find the reason he regarded Kihyun as the most important person in his life. He just doesn’t care.

“Rather than asking me that, why don’t you ask yourself?”

Hyungwon looked up, then, empty, empty, empty, to Kihyun’s eyes, filled with worry and concern and myriad of other emotion, flitting about like flocks of birds. “I did. Everyday.”

_But I still come up empty._

He doesn’t remember the rest of the conversation. But he does remember the taste of the pudding, cold and sweet, with a tang of coffee flavor. He didn’t finish it, and didn’t know why he didn’t. He liked that pudding.

-

One Thursday morning, some odd days after his arrival, Minhyuk gave an envelope to Hyungwon, "It's my part of the rent." Hyungwon just looks at him, not comprehending. Kihyun has been handling all of his bills for such a long time that he doesn't even think about that anymore. He doesn't even remember how much he pays for a month.

The two seconds indecision apparently was his only chance of refusing, because then Minhyuk just left him there, with a cup of hot chocolate and a half-read book. The front door closes, softly, and then it seems like nothing ever happens.

Hyungwon lets him. Flatmate doesn't have to know everything about each other, after all.

-

Almost a week later, Kihyun comes over. It’s a semi-regular thing, Kihyun, a caretaker of sort. Someone who ensures Hyungwon lives in a humanly condition, and hasn’t starved himself out of sheer neglect. Sometimes Hyungwon wonders why Kihyun never gets tired of him and his scatter-brainedness, or of the snack wrappers and chip crumbs littered all around the sofa, of the refrigerator that on most days just consists of a lonely pack of beer and strawberry milk, despite Kihyun’s almost maniacal tendency for cleanliness and orderliness.

To him, Kihyun is some kind of a weird fairy that lives in a world different from his own, always telling him stories of the world he will never be able to visit.

“You did what now?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything, Kihyun. I just have a housemate now.”

“Yeah? A housemate? Where is he from? Is he your high school friend? How did it happen? Where is he now? Why didn’t you tell me soon—“ Kihyun cuts himself when he looks at Hyungwon’s dispassionate eyes, then he smiles, apologetic, “Sorry. Go on.”

Kihyun knows perfectly well how Hyungwon would retract into himself the moment someone even push the slightest. Right now they can converse, but there was a time Hyungwon didn’t want to say anything for almost an entire year, and it was not a time Kihyun wishes to relive.

“I don’t know. It’s just been a few days.”

“A few days?” Kihyun looks concerned, now, and Hyungwon knows that, knows that Kihyun is holding back from nagging him to hell and back.

Just when Hyungwon weighs his option of just not elaborating, the front door beeps, and clicks. Minhyuk appears with a backpack Hyungwon’s not sure he came with, in an oversized sweater that he’s not sure he ever had. Minhyuk seems a little bewildered, but he smiles, politely.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” Kihyun takes over, smiling just as warmly, even when to Hyungwon it looks as fake as the flower he has hanging from the kitchen window. “You must be the housemate, right? My name is Kihyun, I’m Hyungwon’s friend.”

“Ah. Minhyuk.” They shake hand, like it’s a given, like Kihyun wasn’t just about to call police on him a few seconds ago.

“Would you like to join us for dinner? I’m cooking, might as well make it merry. Consider this a welcoming party.”

Minhyuk looks at Kihyun, then at Hyungwon who doesn’t seem to want to participate in the conversation, and smiles, “I’d love to.”

The smile is all wrong. Hyungwon hates it.

Kihyun cooks braised chicken soup and egg roll, served in pot and plates Hyungwon doesn’t realize he owns. Minhyuk offered to help, but Kihyun politely declined, telling him to just wash up and set the table instead, to which Minhyuk obliged calmly. They get along, even when Kihyun checks on Minhyuk every other minute to make sure he’s not lathering the utensils in some kind of poison, even when Minhyuk resolutely didn’t look back as he wiped the table very slowly and very carefully, like if he scrubbed it until it’s shiny enough, he could spy on Kihyun via its reflection.

In a way, it’s ridiculous.

Because only Kihyun would go out of his way to be nice to another person he doesn’t even trust. Because they look like they’re walking on eggshells around each other, sizing the others up like a badger and a fox, waiting for the littlest sign of danger. And they did that without any tangible reason.

For some reason, Kihyun wanted to throw Minhyuk out. But for the same reason, he didn’t.

For a strange reason, Minhyuk wanted to flee from Kihyun. But for a stranger reason, he didn’t.

Hyungwon feels sick, but he also wants to laugh.

He doesn’t get to do either as Kihyun calls him to the table.

“So, where do you come from, Minhyuk?”

They eat in silence, mostly, but Hyungwon knows how Kihyun, who almost never does anything without ulterior motives, is dying to interrogate the new housemate. He should have done it without the pleasantries, but Kihyun is a man of principle, and he’d rather eat mussels and contract allergy than forgoes manner. It’s just that Kihyun doesn’t know that Minhyuk is best left in his own realm of remnant sun rays, which actually just means that Hyungwon forgot to tell Kihyun that Minhyuk most likely ran away from his old home.

“Oh, I’m…” Minhyuk hesitates, pretending to chew to buy time. His eyes flickers in a way that he wasn’t choosing a truth or a lie; he was choosing which lie he would tell. “I was lost in the storm, and I broke my phone. I will stay here until I can buy a new phone, I guess.”

If Kihyun noticed how his questions actually went unanswered, he doesn’t show it.

"How about you, though?" Minhyuk asks back, "Are you guys... a thing?"  
  
"No." Hyungwon answers without looking at Kihyun. They are never 'a thing', never were. Kihyun is just Kihyun.  
  
He doesn't realize Kihyun boring holes at him, even when Kihyun doesn't exactly try to be subtle. Instead, Minhyuk is the one picking up the cues.  
  
"I see," He drops the topic wisely, "How did you guys know each other?"  
  
"We met in middle school and grew close, even though we kind of drifted apart because we continued school in different cities. We're lucky we ended up living in the same city now. Or I wouldn't have been able met him as often."  
  
"Really? You always cook for Hyungwon?"  
  
"I try to cook as often as I can." That was a lie. Kihyun has a set schedule and timeslot for Hyungwon, and he always fulfills that schedule, no matter how busy or not busy he is. It's nothing more, nothing less. "You're always welcome to join, if you want."  
  
"Ah, I wouldn't want to intrude."  
  
"Nonsense. Cooking for three is not much different than cooking for two."  
  
Minhyuk fidgets for a little while, and Hyungwon can see that he is actually eager to just drop the mannerism and accept the offer. Free food doesn't come easily, after all.  
  
"Okay, I'll try. My work hour is a little irregular though."  
  
"Where do you work anyway?"  
  
"Just," Minhyuk scratches his head, "here and there."  
  
There's a beat of silence before he adds, "It's all legal, don't worry."  
  
"I'll take your word for that, then."  
  
After that, something seems to shift between Kihyun and Minhyuk. They talk a lot in the dinner table, about empty general topics that neither of them need to back off from. Kihyun tells Minhyuk about a time there was a big fire near the convenience store three blocks away that needed two days to put out. They end up discussing about fire hazard and hygiene, and Hyungwon finds out a few things about Minhyuk.  
  
First, is that his voice gets really pitchy everytime he's excited. Kihyun does the same, but Minhyuk's voice is huskier, so instead of chirping, he sounds like whining. Like a puppy. Which, in retrospect, suits him a little too much.  
  
Second, is that he has a nervous tic—or more like an excited tic. He keeps touching his temple while talking and tap-tap-taps it while he's remembering something. He smacks his lips, he licks his fingers, and he eats with his mouth closed, but talks a lot in between. Minhyuk is comprised of so much tic that Hyungwon wonders if he's made entirely of bundles of nerve.  
  
Third, is that Minhyuk is very smart and perspective. Not once did he ever direct a question at Hyungwon, despite being the actual owner of the house. It's something that Kihyun needed years to learn: that Hyungwon doesn't like small talk.  
  
In a way, he's more scattered than Hyungwon, but at the same time, he also has his life so put together.

-

“Hyungwon?”

Minhyuk’s figure is perfectly framed by the doorframe, his features invisible through the dark of Hyungwon’s bedroom, and the light that spills from the living room cast an eerie shadow. It feels like a horror movie, if the ghost is a nervous boy who is too afraid to ask for permission to enter, who waits at the door even when no door is even closed. Minhyuk doesn’t even look at his room or at him, he trains his eyes to the floor, to the barely visible brown carpet on Hyungwon’s floor.

In better times, Hyungwon would have put down whatever he did and looked at Minhyuk with warm attention, humming a recognition that signs _Yeah? What can I help you with?_

At this moment, Hyungwon doesn’t answer.

“Thank you for dinner.”

He waits, then, shuffling like a dog wanting a praise, but Hyungwon had none to spare. The dinner was neither nice nor bad. It was whatever, for him. “You should thank Kihyun.”

“I will.”

Another moment of stifling stillness, and then Minhyuk seems to give up, facing upwards, then sighs. “Good night, then, Hyungwon.”

Hyungwon didn’t answer, didn’t even look where Minhyuk left.

He realized, though, how Minhyuk called his name a lot. And that he never called his name back, not even once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes less and less sense, but I want to continue.

**Author's Note:**

> [Playlist](https://t.co/M3psk1gKkr?amp=1) for the whole fic, this chapter and all the chapters after.


End file.
